


No Guts, No Glory

by pornographicrainbowlegs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pumpkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:44:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornographicrainbowlegs/pseuds/pornographicrainbowlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bucky,” the man says after a moment.</p>
<p>“Bless you,” Steve responds.</p>
<p>“No,” the man laughs heartily. “Bucky, it’s my name.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>This meet cute follows Steve through his various pumpkins tragedies and meeting the cute pumpkin boy, Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Guts, No Glory

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to [transwintersoldier](http://transwintersoldier.tumblr.com/).

It is early October and the chill in the air is seasonally crisp in the shade but warm enough in the sun. Bucky is wearing a light flannel jacket rolled up at the sleeves to leave his arms free to maneuver the carving knife in his hand he’s using to sculpt the little, ugly gourds that never sell. It’s been keeping him occupied so he doesn’t hover over the shoppers. His uncle’s farm isn’t usually too busy until the end of October, but there are a few people drifting through the selection. He mostly ignores them but keeps a friendly and open demeanor in case they feel the need to ask for help.

He finishes the gourd he’s working on and gives it a once over to inspect his work, noting that it looks unfixably goofy. But it’s a gourd, it is allowed to look goofy. Practically expected, even.

He sets down the little fruit and twirls the knife in his hand while he checks over the crowd milling about the various pumpkins, eyes catching on a specific individual that was not accounted for last time he looked up from his work. He’s a slight man with blond hair and a coat much heavier than the weather truly calls for, accessorized with a scarf and fingerless gloves. He’s standing in front of the Atlantic Giants and Bucky can’t help but judge just a little bit that the pumpkins the man is inspecting might perhaps be out of his league.

A child no more than twelve years old breaks away from his family shouting, “Mama! Can I get this one?” pointing to a pumpkin just to the left of the man, still in the giant pumpkin section.

“Sure, honey,” the mom calls back, not really paying much attention to her son. The boy kneels down to get a grip on the immense mass of orange and heaves it easily, then saunters back to his mother.

The man watches the boy with a face of determination. Then he looks about himself before leaning down to pick up one of the smaller ones, still probably weighing in at least 30 pounds. The struggle is obvious, but the tiny man perseveres, hefting the enormous pumpkin over to Bucky’s temporary register table. Bucky makes to get up off of his stool and help. “Need any assistance?” he asks before getting much further, not wanting to overstep.

The man startles a moment, briefly losing his balance before shoring up his grip and addressing Bucky. “No, I’ve got it,” he says tightly.

The man finishes his slow waddle over to Bucky’s counter and hoists the pumpkin up on the table, out of breath and pink cheeked.

“Find everything you need?” Bucky asks, trying to be friendly.

“Yes,” the man says.

“That’ll be eight dollars,” Bucky totals. The man hands over a ten and Bucky hands him his change. “Need any help taking it to your car?”

The man makes a sour face and shakes his head. “No, I can do it,” he says.

So Bucky shrugs and watches as the man makes a tottling progress across the small parking area and puts the pumpkin in the front seat of his car. “Have a nice day, now!” Bucky calls after him. The man waves behind him and gets in his car to drive away.

Bucky picks out another gourd to carve to pass the time.

* * *

Steve blushes and berates himself the whole solitary drive home. The pumpkin patch is just across town, so Steve lets himself think about the incident until he crosses the railroad tracks and then he forces himself to move on. The attempt lasts until his brain supplies him with yet another way the situation was abysmally humiliating. He groans and blushes again.

“Oh my god,” he laments, drawing out more d’s than necessary in the word. He groans under his breath and then loudly as he replays what just happened in his head, completely embarrassed. _Why did he have to be cute?_

Of _course_ he had to be cute, with his flannel jacket and attractive hair and there was Steve being a total weirdo.

The only thing that assuages his mortification is that he will never have to go back.

He parks his car in his driveway, and takes the shopping bag of pie ingredients into the house first before returning for the eighty pound pumpkin playing passenger in his front seat.

(Okay, it’s probably only a thirty pound pumpkin, but his ego feels better pretending it’s eighty.)

He grips from under the pumpkin and tries to lift with his knees, wobbly as they are, before backing straight away from his car, bumping the door closed with his hip. He makes his way slowly and arduously to his front door, resting the weight of the pumpkin between his thigh and the doorframe while he fiddles with the handle. Pushing the door open, he adjusts his grip to carry the pumpkin like a moonish, orange bride, supremely proud of himself that he’s made it this far without a catastrophe.

He turns to properly enter his house, taking a step, and notes exactly the moment things start to go wrong when his step doesn’t make it more than a centimeter off the ground before catching on the threshold. He trips, the pumpkin flies a surprising distance forward, and Steve goes falling after, face first into the viscera of the now smashed pumpkin.

He sighs, sticky mess of pumpkin guts squirming about his face as his jaw moves to form the only appropriate reaction: “Fuck.”

* * *

Halloween is a big deal for Steve. It was his mother’s favorite holiday before she passed. He, too, fell in love with the fall holiday. The smell of burning leaves, the costumes, the candy - Halloween is a hell of a package. Halloween has its own traditions, but he and his ‘ma were able to come up with a few of their own. One of which was the pumpkin patch on the other side of town. He’d gone with her to pick out pumpkins before, but hadn’t gone the last several years due to differing schedules. But he always made time to carve the pumpkin with her and bake the pie and seeds with her after.

He may not be able to carve the pumpkin with her this year, but he feels like an honor to be able to keep the tradition going.

Steve waits two days to go back. It takes an enormous amount of mental preparation, starting with convincing himself that there’s no way the gorgeous pumpkin boy works every day and ending with reminding himself that he’s not very remarkable. So on his way home from work, Steve swings by the pumpkin patch.

The driveway is long and by the time Steve realizes the cute pumpkin boy is working after all, it’s too late to make a retreat.

He parks and exits his vehicle, hopefully looking more natural than he feels. His cheeks are already burning as he avoids eye contact with the salesman and makes his way back over to the assortment of giant sized pumpkins.

He studies his selection, quietly assessing each for quality and the ease with which he can handle the pumpkin by himself. He’s so engrossed with his evaluation that he does not hear the man approaching, and so is startled when he speaks closer than expected. “What does a tiny man need with such a large pumpkin?”

Steve jumps, clutching at his sternum before turning affronted eyes upon this utter stranger. After years of being subtly (and explicitly) mocked for being small and weak, sue him if he is a little sensitive and reacting a tad more bristled than strictly necessary. “Excuse me for being picky about size,” he says.

The man’s eyes widen as his lips curl into a smile. Steve blushes brilliantly, recognizing the double entendre a moment too late.

“That so, huh?” the man says, bumping shoulders in a jovial manner Steve doesn't quite share.

“Take that as you will,” Steve says, hoping the renewed color flushed across his cheeks can be attributed to the biting wind. Steve stares at the man another moment before promptly ignoring him and going back to his pumpkin assessment.

“Bucky,” the man says after a moment.

“Bless you,” Steve responds.

“No,” the man laughs heartily. “Bucky, it’s my name.”

Steve turns away from the pumpkins once more to instead assess this Bucky. He’s tall, wickedly handsome, and strangely sincere. The teasing from earlier is all but removed from his features, and Steve entertains the idea that Bucky might have truly been teasing for fun and not malevolence.

He’s also holding out his hand, face dropping from friendly to embarrassed the longer Steve watches him. Steve has been in Bucky’s shoes more often than he’d like to admit, and it doesn’t hurt anything to help Bucky out.

“Steve,” he introduces himself, holding out his hand in return for a gentle shake. Bucky’s hand is warm and dry and very large over his own.

"Weren’t you here the other day?" Bucky asks, head cocking to the side to study Steve, hand still over his and showing no signs of letting go.

Steve’s cheeks heat in immediate embarrassment, unable to forget why he's back so soon. So much for not being remarkable. “Yeah," he hedges. He awkwardly pulls his hand back and sticks it in his pocket before he can play with his hair out of nerves.

Bucky beams. "You just came back for the company, ah?" he jokes, bumping shoulders again.

Steve wonders if it's possible for his cheeks to stain pink. "Um. No," he says, hesitant. Bucky’s joking face falls and Steve jumps in to explain himself, reluctantly. "My pumpkin. It um." Oh, and just when he thought this exchange couldn't get more embarrassing. He hadn't planned to tell anyone what happened, let alone the cute pumpkin boy. So in a split decision that cannot possibly backfire, he lies. "It seemed lonely. I need a second one to even out the display."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Bucky smiles, gesturing to the mounds of pumpkins.

Steve smiles, feeling a little more at ease through Bucky’s unrelenting friendliness. “Thanks,” he says, looking back down at the pumpkins because it’s rude to stare even if it’s in admiration.

“So, anything I can help you with?” Bucky offers.

Bucky helps Steve pick out his pumpkin and insists on carrying the fruit for him to the register. Steve pays another eight dollars and gets distracted with conversation about how the pumpkin business goes. “Well, the pumpkin selling is only part of the Halloween season business model,” Bucky says, proud grin on his face. “We also offer pumpkin carving classes and apple cider.”

“Oh, are those examples from the class?” Steve asks, pointing to the gourds that line the register table. “I can see why you offer a class, some people really need the help,” he nods.

“Er,” Bucky frowns. “Those are. You know what, never mind.”

Steve’s foot is so thoroughly in his mouth he cannot even properly spit out an apology. He just keeps stuttering until Bucky hands him his change, chuckling at Steve’s impression of a fish out of water.

Bucky helps Steve carry the pumpkin to his car. Well, Bucky carries the pumpkin to Steve’s car while Steve walks awkwardly next to him. “You should come,” Bucky says as he turns from setting the pumpkin on the front seat. “To the class, I mean. It’s only ten dollars and you get a pumpkin and all the apple cider you can drink.”

“Um,” Steve stalls.

“Come on, maybe you could teach me a thing or two,” he jokes, brushing Steve’s shoulder with his own in a gesture that is becoming more a personality trait.

“You’re a very hard sell,” Steve chuckles. “Is this part of the Halloween season business model, too?”

“Nah. Do you think I’d sell more seats if it were?”

Steve agrees to come to the Sunday class. He drives away excited and lets himself ride with the excitement even after he crosses the railroad tracks.

* * *

Bucky’s uncle, Owen, has won awards for his pumpkin carvings. He knows how to do the cool thing where he peels away the skin of the pumpkin to give his carvings shading when there is a candle in the middle. Bucky’s uncle is a true artist.

Bucky is not, so his job during the class is to direct people to the restroom, refill cider, and handle the tools.

Bucky is in the middle of setup, taking the jugs of homemade apple cider from the house to the barn, when he notices a car in the drive. He instantly places it as Steve’s car and smiles. There’s still a good fifteen minutes until class starts. It will be good to connect with Steve before the middle-aged women come in with their meddling cheek pinching and unsubtle elbow nudging.

He’s so busy setting the cider on to reheat, arranging the work stations, and grabbing the cups and cinnamon sticks from the house that it isn’t until an older lady walks into the barn before Bucky realizes that Steve never came in to say hi.

“You look so _handsome_! Helen, doesn’t he just look so _handsome_?” Susan says upon entering the barn.

Helen is Susan’s daughter. They have been coming for the last three years in a row. Susan tries to use it as a bonding activity, Helen uses it as an expression of her tortured soul. The first year, Helen came dressed as a typical tomboy with baggy jeans and a loose, ill-fitting flannel shirt. The second year, her hair looked like raccoon in pastel colors. This year she seems to be rocking the goth look. It compliments her high cheekbones.

“Yeah, mom, so handsome,” Helen says, tugging on her hoodie sleeves and not looking at Bucky at all.

“Hi, ladies,” Bucky greets with a warm smile. “Come on in and have a seat. Cider will be ready soon.”

“Oh Bucky, you’re so good to us!” Susan gushes. “You would make such a good boyfriend to some sweet young lady. Don’t you think, Helen?”

“For sure,” Helen agrees, clipped and tight but with enough enthusiasm to appease her mother into continuing with her assessment of Bucky’s love life.

“Any thoughts when you’d like to start a family?”

Bucky chokes and covers it with a cough. Thankfully, Gertrude shows up before Bucky has to answer. Gertrude has come every year since the beginning, though she doesn’t actually take part in the pumpkin carving. She comes for the apple cider and to gossip with Aunt Beru.

Two more guests arrive, neither of which are Steve. Aunt Beru comes in with her Thermos and heavy sweater and sits next to Gertrude. Uncle Owen comes in with his picked out pumpkin and starts puttering around his own work station while Bucky pours cups of cider. Bucky is just getting nervous that Steve bailed when he looks up to see that the last work station is now filled. Bucky meets Steve’s eyes and smiles big and warm. Steve makes a much smaller and more nervous looking smile back.

Before Bucky can go over and make actual conversation, Uncle Owen starts class. Bucky tries not to be disappointed.

Bucky drops off a glass of cider at Steve’s work station and touches his shoulder to telegraph his movements, setting the glass on the corner of the smaller man’s work station. Then he goes to stand near the back of the room to keep an eye on everyone.

Uncle Owen usually spends a few minutes talking about the history of pumpkins and Halloween, then about how he got into pumpkin carving competitively, and then finally about how the class will work. There are patterns the guests can use or else he will be circling the class after his short demo to help anyone with a certain technique. He also has binders with pictures of all his competition entries, as well as pictures from past classes. He then starts carving his own pumpkin, giving hints about what cutting implements to use and how to choose the right pumpkin for the right design.

Bucky’s sure he would be as fascinated as the guests if this weren’t the hundredth time he’s heard it all. So instead he spaces out and watches Steve.

Steve is raptly focused while Uncle Owen talks. Perhaps it’s that some of the other guests have been in class before and so have a) heard this all before and b) don’t seem to take it so seriously, but Steve is intense about his learning. If his eyes had lasers, they would be boring holes into Uncle Owen’s hands.

“So that’s it for the demonstration part of the class,” Uncle Owen says as he spins his pumpkin for final inspection. “Now it’s time for you all to get your hands dirty.”

The ambient volume increases as guests turn their attention from the demonstration to their own work. Bucky makes a pass about the room with more apple cider, making sure Steve is his last station so he can strike up a conversation.

“So was that more about pumpkins than you ever needed to know?” Bucky asks.

Steve startles away from his work, momentarily confused. “Oh,” he breathes after looking at Bucky, as if he’d confirmed something by just standing there. “Yeah,” he smiles. “It was very interesting.”

“We aim to please,” Bucky beams.

Steve splits his attention back to his project so Bucky watches on while Steve draws on the skin with his marker to outline. “Hey, that’s gonna look real neat,” Bucky says encouragingly.

“Mmm,” Steve murmurs, adding a few more lines before recapping his marker. “Hopefully,” he finally addresses Bucky directly with a humble smile. “I’ve carved pumpkins before, but not like your uncle. Mostly just big toothy grins with my ‘ma.”

“Well, so far your outline is still better than anything _I’ve_ ever carved,” Bucky says.

“Oh, Bucky!” Susan calls.

Bucky dutifully goes to see what Susan needs.

Turns out she doesn’t need anything. She leans in conspiratorially and stage whispers, “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

Helen turns to her mother and hisses, “Mom!”

“Well he didn’t!” Susan raises her voice in a way only wineo suburban mom’s know how.

“Mom!” Helen says again.

“Can I get you more cider?” Bucky offers to change the subject.

But before Bucky can make an effectual escape, a small clattering sound takes all of his attention. “Ow,” Steve sighs from across the room, tightly holding his fingers in his other fist.

“Steve!” Bucky yells and runs the short distance over to Steve’s work station.

Steve hisses softly as he tightens his fist around his fingers. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m okay.”

“What happened?” Bucky asks, vaguely aware that most of the guest’s attention is now on them, the rubberneckers.

“I just cut myself is all,” Steve admits with a self deprecating smile.

“Let me see,” Bucky demands.

Steve loosens his fist a bit and Bucky can see the blood start to trickle freely before Steve hisses at the pain and tightens his fist again.

Bucky glances up and about the room. They do have a first aid kit in the barn. But instead, he gently grips Steve’s elbow and opposite hip to guide him off his stool. “Come on, there’s a first aid kit in the house.”

* * *

Outside the barn, it is dark. The barn has a large, bright light in front for the parking lot and the porch light on the house is lit, too. But Steve is very thankful that Bucky is so close and guiding him over the gravel since his arms are useless for balance the way he has them balled up and fisted together in front of himself.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve says because he feels he needs to apologize for all the trouble he’s causing.

“The hell are you sorry for?” Bucky grumbles. His warm breath on Steve’s cheek is a huge contrast to the cool air around them.

Bucky gets him inside and guides him over to the kitchen sink and turns on the faucet. “You wash that off, I’ll be right back with the first aid box.”

The water stings a bit, but Steve obeys and washes not only the cut but also the blood that has trickled along his palm where he was squeezing the cut shut.

Bucky returns with a first aid kit and rips off a few paper towels from the roll hidden under the cabinet. He shuts off the sink and pulls Steve’s hands in his own. “It’s just a small cut,” Steve assures him. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“Nah, this is totally necessary. What if you get an infection and get gangrene and your finger falls off and you sue us?” he jokes as he pats Steve’s wet hands down with the paper towels.

Steve laughs and perhaps it’s the distraction, but his finger hurts less.

Once satisfied, Bucky sets the towels aside and pulls the first aid box closer to him. He looks at the cut again before selecting a medium sized Band-Aid. He also pulls out the tube of antibiotic ointment and smears a little on the sterile pad before wrapping the sticky wings around his finger, smoothing it down with his own fingers a few times.

He holds on to Steve’s hand for what feels longer than necessary but Steve doesn’t want to pull it back this time. Then he looks up at Steve over their enclosed hands, smirking nervously. “You know, I hear kissing makes everything feel better.”

Steve’s breath catches and he reciprocates the nervous smile. “That so?” he asks.

“Wanna find out?”

Before Steve can answer, Bucky’s lips are placed so gently on Steve’s bandaged finger that he can’t feel it at all. What he does feel is a pooling of nerves and arousal in his belly. It’s almost enough to make him shake.

Bucky’s eyes trace from Steve’s finger to his eyes, subtly questioning. “Feel better?”

“I, um,” Steve stutters in the most unsexy way, cheeks burning as he gathers the guts to say, “maybe if you kiss me again?”

“Like this?” Bucky asks, then places another gentle kiss just a little further down on Steve’s hand.

“Again,” Steve asks, gaining confidence that Bucky isn’t pulling away.

Bucky responds by lowering Steve’s hand while simultaneously pulling him closer. “How about this?” he whispers, and then finally seals the deal with a tender pressure on Steve’s lips.

“Yeah, just like that.”

* * *

Next October:

“Our whole relationship is based on lies!” Bucky shouts dramatically.

“Oh, quit it,” Steve giggles and tries to pull Bucky in for a kiss, but Bucky refuses to budge.

“What _else_ haven’t you told me?” Bucky accuses, pulling Steve’s hands off the lapels of his jacket.

“It wasn’t a lie!” Steve insists, shaking his head and refusing to be embarrassed over something that happened almost a year ago.

“It so was too,” Bucky asserts, dictating his syllables far more than necessary. “You said, and I quote ‘my display is uneven, cute pumpkin boy, please give me another, along with your big co-’”

“Susan!” Steve interrupts. “Helen, welcome back. And who is this?”

A third girl dressed in similar goth fashion is walking hand in hand with Helen as they make their way across the room to the work stations. Susan hangs back a moment to watch on adoringly. “Tiffany,” Susan explains. “Helen’s got a _girl_ friend,” Susan embarrasses her daughter. “I’m chaperoning their first date.”

“Mom,” Helen says, mortified.

Steve and Bucky finish puttering about the barn to set up for class. Bucky drops off cider for the three ladies and is about to get a fourth glass for Gertrude when Susan tugs on Bucky’s shirt sleeve. “I just want you to know,” she says gravely. “You should put a ring on _that_ before he recognizes he’s too good for you.”

Bucky thinks about the pumpkin shaped ring box upstairs in his sock drawer. “Don’t worry, Susan. I’ve got a plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://captainrainbowlegs.tumblr.com/), let me know what you think =D


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